


Some Sleuth

by FleetSparrow



Series: Story a Day in May 2020 [14]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24351382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleetSparrow/pseuds/FleetSparrow
Summary: In which Sherlock Holmes may be the world's greatest consulting detective, but sometimes he truly is clueless.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Story a Day in May 2020 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1727173
Kudos: 50





	Some Sleuth

It is no use. I have been trying, for some time, to express my feelings towards Holmes without being too obvious, but my trials have come to naught. He is either not interested, the side on which I must err, or he is oblivious to my flirting, and, knowing that he possesses a mind capable of such great deductions, cannot be the case.

Ah, well. That is sometimes how life goes.

Or so I thought.

“Watson,” Holmes said to me one morning, after a particularly nasty piece of work we had completed. “This case we’ve finished, has it depressed you?”

It had, in fact, but that was not the reason for my recent reticence. I said as much to him and he looked at me in that quizzical way he usually had for cases.

“I must agree, it was an unfortunate business. But if that is not the reason, then what is it? You are not ill. You are not in love, are you? You know how disagreeable such a state is. Perhaps you are—”

“I am, Holmes. Hopelessly, desperately in love.” I knew as soon as I said it, that I should not have, but, you see, when one is very much in love and has resigned oneself to never having that love returned, it becomes almost freeing to say so.

Holmes seemed to be thinking. “With whom, Watson? Have you met someone? At your practice?”

I wanted to wrap my hands around his throat and throttle him, and also wrap my arms around him and never let him go.

“Can you really not deduce it?” I asked, only half jokingly.

“Not without more information. You know I never theorise before having all information available.”

It was a good thing that the table sat between us, because, had we been in our armchairs by the fire, I may well have leapt across the gap and strangled him. He was being deliberately obtuse, I was sure of it. What I would say next would either lose me my greatest friendship I had ever known or would gain me a lover. I could not conceive of any other possibility.

“It’s you, Holmes.”

Holmes was setting his cup back into its saucer and actually dropped it from his hand. He stared at me with an innocence and confusion I had never before seen on his face.

“Holmes! Are you all right?”

He blinked at me, but otherwise did not move. He did not demand my eviction, nor, as I might have wished, moved to embrace me. He merely sat there, stunned.

“Can you honestly say you had no idea, Holmes?” I asked, incredulously.

He slowly shook his head. “I didn’t— I.” He seemed to collect himself, tearing his gaze away from mine. When he looked back at me, his eyes were hooded. “I didn’t dare hope,” he said softly.

I should have taken his hand. I could have kissed him.

What I did was laugh.

Holmes looked affronted, which made me laugh harder. It was a pure release of joy, of relief.

Finally, I collected myself.

“Holmes. My dearest Holmes! All this time, I have been all but throwing myself at your feet, and _you_ didn’t dare hope?”

He gave me that hooded look and I took his hand.

“And you call yourself a detective.”

“Watson, you know how I feel about matters of the heart.”

“I have thought sometimes you don’t _feel_ anything,” I said. “But I know better.”

I rose, moving around the table to kneel beside him, all the while holding his hand. “You have shown me into that brilliant mind of yours. Will you let me into that brilliant heart as well?”

“My dear Watson, that almost sounds like a proposal.”

“If you’ll have me.”

He took my hand and kissed it. “I want nothing else.”


End file.
